


Getting It, On Tour

by Pink_and_Velvet



Category: Duran Duran, The Power Station (Band)
Genre: Age Gaps, Anal Sex, Behind the Scenes, Bottom John, Daddy Kink, Dominance, Erotica, F/M, From Sex to Love, Gender Dysphoria, Hand Jobs, He likes dressing up, Hotel Sex, John in Lingerie, Lingerie, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parties, Photoshoots, Sex Toys, Spanking, Stories To Be Added, Strip Tease, Toy boy, Wall Sex, chapter by chapter, paddles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:41:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29819574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/pseuds/Pink_and_Velvet
Summary: Johnny has never been the type of coked up rockstar to commit. He’s dirty sweet, and he’s their girl.
Relationships: Andy Taylor/John Taylor (Duran Duran), Caroline ‘Tula’ Cossey/John Taylor, John Taylor (Duran Duran)/Paul Young (b. 1956), Michael Des Barres/John Taylor (Duran Duran), Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Renée Simonsen/John Taylor (Duran Duran), Robert Palmer/John Taylor, Simon Le Bon/John Taylor (Duran Duran), Warren Cuccurullo/John Taylor (Duran Duran)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 10





	1. The Girl Is At Your Side, You’re Absolutely Gonna Do It

**Author's Note:**

> To mark the thirty-sixth anniversary of one of the most chaotic albums ever, I present John in a variety of messed up sexual exploits, with a variety of Power Station men and women. All while recording, promoting and touring with the album.
> 
> Do expect some new faces in this fandom. And some Duranie favourites.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost one hundred women, and almost one man. It’s only 1985, he’s got plenty more women to get through.
> 
> Here’s the ‘almost one man.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: John/Tula
> 
> Today March 4th, marks 36 years since the release of ‘Some Like It Hot’ in the US. Here’s a little behind the scenes action to help celebrate that fact.

_‘Some Like It Hot’ Video Set._ _Pinewood Studios, London,_ _February 1985._

“So toots, what d’ya think?” John uttered, teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

He always felt rather stupid when coming to a model for fashion advice.

Bringing his arms up to cross his chest, John couldn’t fight the embarrassment, the shame he felt. There he stood, in a sheer black shirt and collar, a black G-string and a pair of matching fishnet stockings. He had always been intrigued by them, had always craved the feel of the rich nylon caressing his pasty skin.

He had lived out these indulgences with multiple women, having manipulated them into thinking he would never wear their lingerie, only so he could try it for himself when they called him a ‘wuss’ and dared him too. Roberta had adored it, taking polaroids of Jo—Nigel, laying limp in bed eating strawberries. Janine was another story, calling him a ‘fairy’ before swatting his creamy arse.

Jodie had walked away as soon as he had floated the idea. Virginia was down to play, as long as he could fully submit to her. Which was really no problem, her being much older and experienced in that area really did help matters. Knowing how to _tame_ him, to show him the literal ropes.

Numerous chicks on tour would never get to see. No _man_ would ever get to see… until now.

  
  
Well, Simon too by accident. And Nick. But Nick fuelled his fantasises by making him buy himself a thong. That was a very long time ago.

“Caroline, what do you think? It’s not too much, is it?” He asked, ever so shyly. He could barely look up, his eyes stayed firmly on his socked feet.

Without word, strong fingers clasped at his jaw. Angling it upwards, John was forced to look into those crystal blue eyes. To hold that gaze.

Tula swept her fallen fringe, pressing her ever so teased hair back. She cast her heated gaze all over John, cocking a blonde brow. Her neon green eyeshadow was ever so manipulative; John couldn’t tell whether she was appalled or intrigued by him.

“Honestly, I cannot believe you had all this on under your clothing today. I wouldn’t have suspected a thing, on set.”

“Oh?” John queried, cheeks flushing darker with every flicker of Tula’s heavily lined eyes. “You don’t think it’s too much, do you?”

Tula stepped in closer. In her seven inch heels, her wacky teased hair; she even eclipsed John, all six feet and one inch of him. With and without the added volume of his ever growing mullet. John couldn’t imagine how intimidated Andy must have felt on set, well put against the fifty foot woman. His pint sized guitarist must have felt _attacked_... Anyways. The model was a walking piece of art, sealed into a tight golden corset and neon skirt, carrying herself in a way that reeked dominance and to not cross her. To not toy with her.

She was here to play with _him,_ to mess _him_ up. John asked for it, Tula would deliver.

John had kept saying, he had slept with ever so many women… was this the almost _one_ man?

“Tula, babe?”

Tula stepped in closer, crouching down. Her hot breath tickled his left ear as she spoke, her cerise fingertips ran leisurely through his auburn curls.  
  


She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, leaving a garish pink stain. John’s head was turned back to the dressing room mirror, he was momentarily blinded by the harsh lights. He clutched tight to the dressing table as he braced himself. Offered himself. In more ways than one.

Surely his total will reach over one hundred women. And almost one…

  
“ _Man!_ ”

John belt out a cry as his arse was swatted. Tula had pulled on the leather biker gloves he adored, and was brushing the paddle teasingly down the back of his left thigh.

Tula steadied herself, lining up for the second swat. John lurched forward, arse already on fire. Her hits were cautious, calculated with enough of a vigour and surprised that they had John clawing deeper into the dressing table with every keen swat. He was growing more accustomed to the feeling, the splitting pain the paddles bought. The nauseating pleasure being dominated by Tula’s aura bought.

His cock jerked as he was hit again. He howled, he whined; he’s after more.

Tula continued to thwart his arse, chuckling. She continued to massage his abused flesh, running her fingertips all over the red patches. Leaning down, John stiffened, feeling the woman crowd him. She was ever so dominating, so powerful, so masculine… he couldn’t help but—

“Man, alive!”  
  


Almost one hundred women…

“You like that, don’t you John?” She growled, voice dark as she smacked him again, paddle delivering white hot pleasure to already seething skin.

“Y-yes, yes man— _ma’am!_ ” He screeched, nodding over and over.

Leaning down, her metallic cone bra slicing into his back, Tula flicked the locks of hair from his face and pressed herself up against him. Leaning down, she brushed her lips against his cheek, breathing softly.

“What do you want now, John?” She posed, hot fingertips raking down his bare arms. “What else is in that suitcase?”

John gulped thickly. “A… you know a, a—”

“— Dildo?” She giggled, before licking at the side of his face.

John squirmed in desperation, cock surging beneath the table.

“Shall I _shove_ it—” John’s gasp cut her off momentarily, she giggled darkly again. “Is that what you want, John?”

John cried out, thrusting up against the dressing table in desperation; sheer need. Tula kicked him, silently demanding he stop.

She was here to pleasure him good and proper; to drill him into the dressing table as asked. Or sofa, or wall. He needed to listen, as he lived out his fantasy – being whipped into shape by a favourite ex-Bond girl.

John shakily rose to standing, a shaky hand on the flimsy string. Tula returned moments later, high heels tapping on the tile floor. Each tap sent a jolt up his spine, each tap threatened him to let go.

He was ever so close. He needed taking. He needed taming, to be yanked by the hair, thrown atop the table and devoured—

“Have you been playing with yourself? You’re very loose already…”

A man could do that easily, right?

“John.”

But she’s not a man anymore, is she?

“Bend over, John. Stay there.”

He did as instructed, feeling his pulse soar and ears ring. He wanted this, he wanted this more than he wanted the single to hit the top ten. More than he wanted this video to be a hit on _MTV_.

He wanted Tula, craved her. Her tender lips, betraying the harsh thrust of her hips. Her teasing touches, her cock sending him raging over the edge. Seeing stars, coming all over her gloved hands.

“John,” He croaked out a cry as she slapped him. “Relax now, this’ll hurt a tad…”

Her fingertips pressed at his hole, asking one final time for permission. John granted it with a whine, offering his arse up higher, presenting himself. Needing to be taken, rode hard, by a wo- _man_ tonight.

“Fuckin’ _please,_ Caroline…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify, the model hired for this video was Caroline ‘Tula’ Cossey. A British model, who was also the first trans model. She was born with rare chromosomes that meant she appeared more feminine, and was confused over her gender for years. But was able to transition rather young, in a time where all this was incredibly taboo and frankly unheard of. 
> 
> Tula is mostly known for her LGBTQ+ activism, and being the first trans model to feature on the cover of Playboy. With the tag line “would you sleep with this woman?” She was near blacklisted from the modelling world in the early 90s because “James Bond’s woman was a man,” one decade prior, and was outed as a trans woman. Since the early 90s, she had fought for her right to marry and to be legally classed and perceived as a real woman.
> 
> Tula was a Bond girl in ‘For Your Eyes Only’ in 1981, and had numerous acting roles and work throughout the 1980s.
> 
> When she was hired for The Power Station, her contract originally stated to make the three videos for each single; ‘Communication’ being the video that would never be made when Robert dropped out before the tour. In 1985, the world did not know she was trans, nor would the world have likely been able to accept that. And therefore, neither does John here, really. He jumps at the opportunity to be fucked by a favourite Bond Girl...
> 
> So forgive me for my handling of this situation. He’s not exactly clueless, but this theory really does fit his “almost one man” comment, when you stop and think about it!


	2. He’s Unavoidable, I’m Backed Against The Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert’s unavoidable, John’s backed up against the wall. Right near the bay window, so nearly all of New York can see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: John/Robert
> 
> Here’s a personal favourite story of mine from this growing collection. And my first attempt at writing these two in any sexual matters, hopefully this won’t be the last!

_John’s Waldorf Penthouse, Spring 1985._

“Can I… y’know, call you…”

“Call me anythin’ you want, Taylor.”

“… _Daddy_.”

Slamming up against the wall, John cried out as his legs were hoisted up and around Robert’s strong body. They were up beside the bay window, all of New York ever so close to catching their private show. Hands in his greasy hair, hands running down his shirt; John lurched forward, blindly stripping Robert. Getting as far as whipping off his tie, John’s clammy fingertips were slapped away as he tried to claw at any buttons, being stopped after just one. One damn teasing button.

Quickly getting it, John moaned deeply into Robert’s mouth as the singer stripped his bassist. Tossing his clothes aside, he hummed into John’s mouth, driving him further into the wall. And into madness.

Jumping up, John sealed his legs back around Robert’s waist. Leathers shrugged off and blue triangle print shirt aside; John’s chest flushed deeper as Robert’s lips began caressing his collarbones. His pecs, down to his sternum. John whined, tossing his head back further into the wall.

John was fully nude save for his once white boxers. Robert was fully clothed save for his tie, suave as ever. Ever so poised, sweat barely staining his skin.

He reeked of dominance. John was quivering under his bare hand.

John was a mess. When was he not, though?

Hips grinding upwards and moans dropping wild. Robert’s deft fingers were dropping lower, sneaking under his boxers to caress his thigh. John blurt out a harsh cry, shivering bodily as his boxers were yanked from him, member springing free and bobbing painfully between them.

Shoving John back up into the apartment wall, the bassist groaned hotly before his lips were claimed again. As dexterous fingers slipped inside his mouth, John sucked lightly. As dexterous fingers slipped inside him, prodding and twisting.

John grunted, the pain seared through his lower abdomen. Robert was quick to shush him, to comfort him, muttering soft lyrics into his ear as his fingertips began to scissor artfully, bringing John back down to planet Earth.

The bassist clawed out for his singer, whining under his hot touch. Robert’s movements grew stronger, their hips were flush as the singer’s hips buckled forward to press deeper into John’s own. He hissed, member dribbling, pulse surging and pasty skin heated. Dropping his legs, John stumbled back to standing, a fierce hand on his hip and another plummeting to his dick.  
  


Falling forward, John dropped his heavy head onto Robert’s shoulder, panting and drooling atop of the cotton. He ground his hips forward, thrusting into Robert’s expert hand. Cocking his leg up, John again gave access to his hole, aching for more fingers. A fist. Anything.

He was glaringly close to coming, growing soft around the edges. His vision was blurry, head a jumble. All that he knew was Robert was right there. Fully clothed. Powerful. Singing softly to him. Egging him on through to his orgasm. Daring him to let go.

He reeked of dominance and passion. John was shuddering under his hot touch.

Robert’s fingers again ascended into John, the younger man screeching as his gut twisted and his thrusting grew sloppy. Within moments he was coming, Robert having artfully stepped aside so John’s streams wouldn’t stain his trousers. John was coming in torrents, bucking aimlessly into Robert’s rough grip, panting harshly and shivering all over.

With a hasty breath he fell forward, cheeks aflame, before planting near breathless kisses all over the elder’s flushed face, and little exposed neck.  
  


  
John thanked him all over. With his lips, his fingertips, his rough voice. Robert told him there was no need, stepping away whilst John gathered himself, watching the bassist dress solemnly; a dashing glint in his eye.


	3. Johnny’s Been Thinking With His Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets caught enjoying a little me-time in another woman’s dress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: John/Michael
> 
> This story was actually the first I wrote in this whole collection. I’ve been so tempted with these two for ages, their on stage antics and genuine love for eachother still exists today! Plus, the amount of sleazy innuendo from tour videos alone... how can my mind not wander? John’s a toy boy, what more can I say?

_John’s Hotel Suite, July 1985._

Lazing back into the plush, he took ahold of his cigarette and lightly rolled it between his fore finger and thumb. With a sigh, a hand fell to his chest, massaging his left pec lightly. The familiar glare of the television blared, a sea of vibrant yet distorted neons cast into the grand hotel suite to illuminate the bed. The lights were off, _Miami Vice_ was on, what more could John want?

Bringing his cigarette to his lips, he lit up and inhaled sharply, blowing a smoke ring before him. With a small laugh, he watched it disappear, before retaining his attention on Crockett and Tubbs. The minutes passed in near silence, bar the occasional scream, gunshot and car backfire roaring from the telly. John was enrapt, eyes wide, puffing lightly as the sun dripped down, and the night was upon him.

The hours passed by, massaging himself, teasing himself, fag ash dropping onto his writhing body…

“John, JT open up!”

With a jerk, he awoke. His cigarette had long since burnt out, having burnt his hand in the process. John winced, blowing atop it, before chucking the cigarette into the ash tray.

“C’mon Johnny, I’ve got to talk to ya!”

John sprung up to standing, a sudden chill knocking him for six.

“Holy…” he looked down, surveying himself. “A dressing gown… gotta find a— _ah!_ ” John sprinted for the cupboards, flinging through his rack of silken cloaks. He retrieved his favourite purple velvet gown, with the striped silken lapels, quickly tossing it on and tying it tight.

It was far too short, his long and lean legs still on show.

“ _John!_ For the love off— open the door.” They were banging on the door, John’s heart was racing.

Cursing, he darted over, fumbling with the latch. He only hoped, prayed, that whoever was waiting wouldn’t say anything about—

Their laughter was hysterical. John pouted.

“Nice legs, Johnny.”

“Oh, hush.” John blushed, eyes trailing down. He was really poorly covered. Things were hanging… precariously. He coughed again. “What d’ya want, Michael?”

“Well, I was gonna ask if you were thinking about getting your arse to this party but…”

The singer eyed him up and down, a smirk painting his flushed face. His eyes were wide and sparkling, his lips glistened after he licked them, only drawing John in closer. He wanted to be mad for having his evening to himself ruined but, as Michael kept on talking, John found that he hadn’t heard a thing. He didn’t mind.

He wanted more.

“Hey, JT!” Michael laughed, now sat on his king size hotel room bed. In a US State John wasn’t sure he could name. “What’s all _this,_ then?” He gestured wildly at the dressing gown, John shucked himself away with a fierce blush coating his face.

“Nothin’ - I wasn’t doin’ _nothing!_ ” John answered, far too fast.

“ _Was_ doing nothing.” Michael simply cocked a brow, correcting him. “Uh huh. We’ll see about that.”  
  


Without any word of warning, suddenly John was being wrestled to the ground. Michael’s hands were quick, teasing and ticklish, threading their way through John’s silken lapels to touch his skin. John kicked back and hollered, laughing manically as he was fighting a losing battle. Apparently, he was hungrier than the wolf could ever be, forcing the shame to not sink in.

He wanted more.

“My, my. What do we have _here?!”_ Michael chuckled, cocking his head.

He was certain, Michael would give him more.

John lay panting, messy bed mullet splaying out in all directions; arms above his head in defeat. He was being tickled again, nosey fingertips running wild up and down his torso, slipping underneath the flimsy fabric.

“No, n-no, Mich— _agh,_ shit!”

“ _Lace?!_ I always figured you’d be more of a fishnet kinda man, Johnny.”

“Cut it out, cut it _out!”_ John spat, still laughing. He pushed Michael off him, so he could rise to seated. Embarrassed? Sure. Determined to act on it? Almost certainly. “Okay, you caught me. Happy now?!”

“Absolutely.”

“ _Wanker_.” He groaned, a lop sided smile creeping across the bassist’s face.

Holding an arm out, John was hoisted back to standing. Velvet dressing gown hanging off him, he simply slipped the fabric free from his body, trying to ignore the shame sinking in about his weight. His bulging stomach.

John’s face was aflame as those piercing eyes roamed his chest, fixating themselves to the white lace bralette top that covered his nipples, then the satin babydoll encasing his no longer so slender frame. And, how could John forget, the lace knickers encrusted with small silver gemstones, and their satin bow wrapped delightfully around his—

“Christ!” Michael hollered, jaw dropping momentarily. “You missing Virginia Hey that much you had to bring some of her trashy lingerie with you on tour? Jeez, Johnny.”

“Trashy?!” John tossed his head back up, like a double take. He blinked twice, cocking his head. “No, no these aren’t… no. They belonged to _Janine,_ she left ‘em a bloomin’ long time back and… erm, y’know I was, I was just… erm…”

With a snigger, “Virginia’s bra wouldn’t fit those man tits of yours?” John flushed deeper, nodding. “Ha! Page three breasts, it is.”

“Oh, hush.”

Lurching a hand forward, John turned himself away as Michael’s quick fingertips grasped hold of the lace edge. Lifting the baby doll slightly, he fully revealed the women’s underwear poorly hiding John’s strain.

“So…” Michael began, voice dropping low. “What were you _up_ too, Johnny? Seems you like bein’ watched.”

“ _Watched?!_ ” John startled in surprise. The babydoll was being lifted from him, and he was bringing his arms up to help. “Yeah, watched… why you, you wanna— you know, uh, you wanna—”

John’s sly voice trailed off. Michael took a seat before him.

“What’re you waitin’ for, JT?”

Engulfing a shaky breath, John closed his eyes, hands dropping to his bulging stomach. His fingertips trailed upwards, inching closer and closer to his nipples, hardening under his light touch. He tugged at the left, moaning low, the smile was quick to spread across his blushing face. Michael remained near silent, bar some helping grunts and steady breathing, simply reminding John he was there.

John’s fingertips massaged his nipples, harshly rolling the nubs and drawing lengthy whines. His right hand skirted it’s way down, to the ample bulge forming in his lacy knickers. The cream fabric hid nothing; Michael was really a lucky sod.

“Shall I, shall I—” John coughed. His voice was gravely, riddled with desire. His eyes were hooded, fingertips now resting teasingly atop the waistband, the flimsy waistband.

“Hell yeah.” Michael groaned out.

“ _Fuck!_ ” John groaned sharply as he bared himself to air, a harsh gust of wind on his throbbing self causing a full body shudder.

“Come on Johnny, touch yourself.”

John followed the order, knowing if he didn’t use his head he would loose his body tonight.

He wanted that. He needed to let go.

“You’re _Thinking With Your Body,_ JT. Come on, touch yourself. Give us a show.”

He was egged on, fingertips loose circling around his member. A single, light touch, saw dribbles of fluids trickling from him. Coating his fingertips almost instantly with his seed. John began running his hands up and down, quickly setting a rough pace. Bordering on violent, he was jacking himself ever so quickly knowing he couldn’t draw his moment out much further.

The knickers were still hanging precariously around his knees, collecting his juices for him.

“Oh for… fuckssake, _shit!_ ”

Groans of encouragement, and moans of pride saw John through. The pressure was building in his lower abdomen, balls tightening and threatening to let go the more his fingers pressed them, teasing the release. Unable to stop himself, his left hand went straight back to his nipple, twisting it harshly. In time with his rough strokes, his hips were jerking forward, buckling, bordering on painful. Thrashing himself about, pulse rising, sweat staining his skin.

“Fuck… help me! T-touch, gah, _touch_ me!” John whined, harshly panting. Tripping over his few words, groaning wildly, hips slamming forward, seeing stars.

John’s loosing his body tonight to Michael’s dirty, sweet words. His body’s doing the talking and all he wants now is to come. Come _hard_.


End file.
